


alligator blood

by lipsticksunrise



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Dom/sub, Gun Kink, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Russian Roulette, unless you count weird feelings as plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:55:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26889991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipsticksunrise/pseuds/lipsticksunrise
Summary: When Hinata finds the gun, he knows Komaeda meant for him to. There’s no other explanation for the way the cold metal brushes his knuckles when he reaches into the back of the cabinet for the laundry detergent, but he pauses like it might still be meant to be a secret.
Relationships: Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito
Comments: 15
Kudos: 160





	alligator blood

**Author's Note:**

> finally returning to the roots of this account (sex with messy feelings because.... yeah) but now with danganronpa! woohoo! the title is from "alligator blood" by bring me the horizon, which, while gratuitously edgy, fits the vibe i'm going for pretty well. the fic is set in a post-canon universe where everything is fine (except for, you know, trauma). 
> 
> cw in end notes! enjoy!

When Hinata finds the gun, he knows Komaeda meant for him to. There’s no other explanation for the way the cold metal brushes his knuckles when he reaches into the back of the cabinet for the laundry detergent, but he pauses like it might still be meant to be a secret. 

The house is silent. If Komaeda’s awake, he’s decided it’s a quiet day. If he’s asleep, that probably won’t last long. More pressingly, though, there’s a handgun behind in the back of the laundry cabinet.

Hinata takes it in his hand carefully. Gun safety protocol says it shouldn’t be loaded, but everything about Komaeda and the past says it is. Hinata keeps it pointed at the ground, tests its weight in his hand. It’s heavier than it looks and lighter than its implications.

_ Why does Komaeda have it?  _ is certainly a question Hinata could ask, but the answer is both obvious and unpleasant. The more pertinent question is why Komeada, or at least, his luck, has chosen this moment for Hinata to find it.

Hinata runs his thumb over the smooth metal of the handle, just once, and slides the gun back behind the bottle of Tide. He tries to keep his footsteps soft as he walks upstairs, but Komaeda is blinking groggily when he pushes the door of their bedroom open.

“Hey,” he says. “Did I wake you?”

“Oh, no, I was just waking up already, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda says, his smile already brighter than it has any right to be. It’s beautiful in the way that the sun is - hard to look at for any longer than a moment and, as much as Hinata refuses to admit it, the best just when it’s arriving or fading. “What’s wrong?”   
  
Hinata blinks. “What?”

“What’s wrong?” Komaeda repeats. “I know my intuition isn’t really up to yours, but you seem off.” 

“Your -” Hinata stops himself short of saying _ Your intuition is fine _ because it would be both useless and stupid. “I’m fine.”

Komaeda looks at him. His eyes are normal, technically, but that doesn’t mean that they don’t feel like they’re looking in at all of the spaces between his bones, where he’s held together only by the kinds of ideas Komaeda can’t seem to let go of. “Why did you come back up here, then?”

“I can’t just want to see you?” Hinata challenges. He sits down on the side of the bed, reaching a hand out and brushing a lock of Komaeda’s tangled hair from his forehead.

Komaeda stiffens up at the touch, just for a moment. “I mean, that’d be quite a compliment if that were the case. But I’m pretty sure it’s not.”

Hinata looks down at him and sighs, slowly. Komaeda watches him patiently, his bright smile subsiding into a small, all too knowing upturn of his lips. “I did the laundry this morning,” he says. 

Komaeda’s smile doesn’t falter or change, but something seems to click on in his eyes. “I thought that was supposed to be my job.”

“I guess, but I keep telling you that you do too much as it is,” Hinata says, chiding but not seriously. “And Komaeda, I love you, but you do not wash your shit enough.”

Komaeda laughs a little. His cheeks flush, just a bit, when Hinata says that he loves him. Hinata wonders if that will ever stop, or if he ever wants it to. “You know that would change if you just asked,” he says.    
  
“I know, I know, but I want to do nice things for you sometimes, you know?” Hinata asks. “Uh - rhetorical question. But, anyway, I’m assuming you know what I found.”

Komaeda keeps staring at Hinata, blinking so rarely that Hinata is about to make a note to double check with Alter Ego about side effect things when he finally says, “What did you think?”

“That a laundry cabinet is a stupid place for a gun,” Hinata says. If it’s meant as a joke, it falls flat. “Look, I want to know why you feel like you need a gun here. And don’t try to say self-defense, because the laundry room is a little too out of the way for that.” 

Instead of answering the implicit questions, Komaeda reaches out and takes Hinata’s free hand in his own. He holds it more like a palm reader than a boyfriend, touching the spaces between Hinata’s fingers almost reverently. “I don’t know what I should be preparing for right now,” he admits.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”   
  
Komaeda wraps his long fingers around Hinata’s thumb, gives it a brief squeeze, and lets go, returning his hand to his own side like a child being rebuked on the playground. “Whether this was good or bad luck,” he explains. “And in turn, what’s coming next.”

Hinata sighs again. Komaeda just smiles, small and patient. “Have you ever considered the idea that things might happen coincidentally, especially if your idea of a hiding spot is just behind the detergent?”

“Who said it was a hiding spot?” Komaeda asks. “And come on, we both know that we’re not prone to coincidence.”

“I guess not,” Hinata admits. He shifts his weight slightly, and the bedsprings creak. “You’re still avoiding the question, though. Why do you have a gun?”

Komaeda reaches out and takes his hand again, this time lacing his fingers between Hinata’s and waving their joined hands back and forth. “For you,” he says, like that explains not only something, but everything. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Komaeda’s smile shifts to a smirk. “Come on, Reserve Course, use your head,” he jokes, then, when Hinata scowls at him, “Well, in case I ever - in case you ever need it. Although I suppose recreational purposes aren’t out of the question, but that goes back to what kind of luck my so-called talent has decided to offer me today.”

Hinata blinks once, twice, three times. “What do you - okay, slow down. Why the fuck would I need a gun?”

Komaeda’s smirk falls back into his complacent smile, but his eyes give Hinata a  _ come on  _ look. “We both know I’ve had my moments,” he says, like it’s a joke. 

“That doesn’t mean - actually, no, that’s too much to unpack for nine am. What do you mean ‘recreational purposes?’ You know I don’t hunt or anything like that.”

The problem is that Hinata is already starting to see the shape unfolding in front of him, and the part of him that likes it is already starting to form way too many convincing arguments to bring the rest of him to its side. But he holds his breath and waits for Komaeda to explain.

“I know,” Komaeda says patiently. “But think about it. There are lots of other recreational uses for guns, and a few of them really aren’t too far off from some of the things we normally do.” A pointed glance up at Hinata’s hand. Hinata flushes. “Honestly, I was just waiting for the perfect time to bring this up, and it seems like this is it!”

“That’s not - what the fuck?” Hinata says. “Komaeda, seriously, what the fuck?”   
  
“Don’t play dumb, you’re better than that. And besides, there are much better games, like, oh, I don’t know, Russian roulette. Add in a little bit of, you know, and I don’t think I need to say much else.”

Hinata slides his hand up into Komaeda’s hair, threading his fingers into it and holding it not harshly, not tugging, just as a reminder of where they’ve been and where it looks like they’re going. “No, no, I think you do, actually.”

“What else is there?” Komaeda says.

Hinata sighs, frustrated. He loves Komaeda, really, he does, but he would appreciate it if he even so much as tried to speak plainly once in his life. “I don’t get - I don’t want to just assume that we’re on the same page with something like this.”

“I understand,” Komaeda says. His composure is so perfect that it would be maddening if Hinata wasn’t used to it. “I want - well, not that that matters, particularly, but I want you to know that you can, if you ever want to. Shoot me, that is. Don’t make that face.”   
  
“No, c’mon, you know I don’t want to hear that,” Hinata interrupts. “Do we need to make this a thing?”

Komaeda’s eyes brighten. “Do we?” he asks.   
  
“Just - we’ll get to that later,” Hinata says. His cheeks are hot, and he unconsciously tightens the grip he has on Komaeda’s hair. 

Komaeda lets out a breathy sigh, tilting his head back into the touch without ever breaking eye contact with Hinata. Hinata shivers. “It’s… it makes me feel like my luck means something,” he admits, with so much apparent candor that Hinata more than half-expects the next words out of his mouth to be a quote attribution, “especially if the whole situation’s quite literally out of my hands.” 

“... You hid a gun in the laundry room and waited for me to find it just so I would play Russian roulette with you.” 

“It worked, didn’t it?” Komaeda asks. He’s smiling like he knows a secret, like someone’s started telling him a joke and he already knows the punchline.

Hinata lets go of Komaeda’s hair and throws his hands up, standing up and starting to pace back and forth along the length of the bed. “What? No. Komaeda, I’m not going to shoot you.” 

“You  _ might _ not shoot me,” Komaeda corrects. He gets up as well, his bare feet hitting the carpet so softly that Hinata wonders, not for the first time, if there’s any substance to him at all. “That’s the whole point of the game.”

Hinata doesn’t resist when Komaeda stops him mid-step, lets Komaeda’s hands reach up to hold onto his shoulders and keep him still. “Why?” he asks.

Komaeda is still smiling that patient, soft smile, and Hinata doesn’t know whether he wants to kiss or hit it away - which, in retrospect, is more telling than he’d strictly prefer it to be. “I told you already.”   


Hinata reaches out and cups Komaeda’s face in his hands. His skin is cold under his hands, and Komaeda goes still at the touch. “You do realize this is a stupid idea, right?” Hinata says. “You could die.”

“But I won’t,” Komaeda says, as easily as if he’s assuring Hinata that the sky is blue. 

“But you  _ could _ .”

“I won’t,” Komaeda repeats, but before they get caught in a cycle of pointless back and forth, he adds, “But I guess you’re right, it is a possibility.”

Hinata looks him directly in the eyes, unsurprised when Komaeda’s gaze widens, briefly, then lands on the wall over Hinata’s shoulder. “So why do you want to risk it?”

Komaeda laughs. “Do I really need to explain that to you? Although, again - it’s not a risk, really.”

“It’s-” Hinata starts, unsure of the argument he’s going to make and therefore almost relieved when Komaeda’s lips crash into his. 

Komaeda always kisses like he’s desperate, like he thinks he’s going to be told to stop at any moment, and this is no exception. His hands move from Hinata’s shoulders to his back, gripping the fabric of his loose t-shirt and pulling himself as close to Hinata as he can get.

Hinata is frozen for just a second before his brain kicks online and he lets himself kiss Komaeda back just as hard. His hands slide from the sides of Komaeda’s face and back into his hair, this time not making any pretense of gentleness before yanking it toward himself, pulling Komaeda closer, closer, closer, until they both lose their balance and tumble backwards onto the bed, Komaeda on top of Hinata. 

“Come on, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda says, tilting his head to bite at Hinata’s jawline.

Hinata pulls him away by his hair, muttering, “Just - don’t talk for a second,” before bringing Komaeda’s lips back to his. 

Komaeda moans into his mouth, obscene in the way that Hinata was convinced was fake for at least a month, and grinds down against him. It’s not a surprise that he’s hard. Hinata is willing to bet that he has been since he found out that Hinata found the gun, and if Hinata’s been halfway there for… a little bit, well, it doesn’t really matter. He’s all the way there now, letting himself push back up against Komaeda and groaning just a bit when Komaeda’s hands slip between them and rest, flat, against his chest. 

Despite Hinata’s request and tight grip, Komaeda manages to pull away just enough to say, “Please, please, let me-”

“Let you what?”

Komaeda flounders for a moment. Hinata takes the pause as a chance to appreciate how quickly and dramatically Komaeda can lose his composure - calm and patient one moment, gasping and flushed the next - and waits. “Let me prove myself to you,” he finally says, “just once, I need you to let me prove myself, I need you to be in control,  _ please. _ ”

And - sure, Komaeda’s fucked up, but Hinata has never claimed that he holds the monopoly on that title, here. At the very least, that’s the excuse he gives himself as he closes his eyes, breathes in, and lets go of Komaeda’s hair as he opens them again. “Fine,” he says. “Just once.”   
  
Komaeda’s smile splits open like a wound, an image Hinata tries and fails not to think about too much. “You really are the best, you know.”

“Shut up, I already agreed,” Hinata grumbles. He gently nudges Komaeda to the side, and he rolls over onto the bed easily. “Okay, I guess I’ll go, just, get the gun, then.”

He gets to his feet, almost surprised when his legs support his weight, but Komaeda’s hand closes around his wrist before he can take another step. “Wait,” he says, and Hinata does.

“What?”

“Can you tie me up?”

Hinata’s cheeks flush an even brighter red than before. “Tie you up,” he repeats, like it’s not something he’s done more than a few times before. 

Komaeda moves so that his back is leaning against the headboard, his hands spread out by his sides and his eyes steadily flicking between Hinata and the rungs of the metal headboard. Hinata looks at him for a long moment, struck by the sudden privilege of getting to see him, then reaches into his bedside drawer.

He pulls out the cuffs first, making sure that his hands touch only metal, no soft padding. Komaeda’s smile stretches, and he lifts his hands over his head without having to be told. 

“Good,” Hinata murmurs, pulling them together and closing the handcuffs around his wrists, then around the headboard. 

Komaeda’s cheeks are pink, his hard-on easily visible through his loose sleep shorts. Hinata reaches back into the drawer and pulls out a slim leather collar with a short metal chain. He doesn’t ask Komaeda if it’s okay as he kneels on the bed and closes it around his throat - he knows the answer.

Hinata takes hold of the chain in one hand, putting just enough pressure on it that Komaeda has to move his head forward a bit, and says, “In my hand or on the headboard?”

Komaeda is quiet, considering, then shrugs. The movement is awkward with his arms above his head, and Hinata shivers. “It’s not my place to decide,” Komaeda finally says.

“Well, I’m telling you that it is,” Hinata says, quietly, sternly.    
  
Komaeda attempts to stretch, testing the boundaries in a couple of ways. Hinata waits until he sighs and says, “Headboard. But of course you can take it if you want it.”   
  
“I know,” Hinata says, then again, “Good.” 

The clip at the end of the chain closes around the central rung of the headboard, and Komaeda’s head is pulled flush against the metal. He rolls his head to the left, then to the right, like he’s working out some kinks after a long night of sleep, then relaxes into the restraints. “Thank you, Hinata-kun.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Hinata huffs. He slides backward off of the bed, trailing his hand along Komaeda’s thigh as he goes, and he keeps his breath and footsteps steady until the door to the bedroom is closed behind him. 

That’s when he lets himself freak out, just a bit. What the fuck is he doing? He just meant to make sure that Komaeda wasn’t planning on killing anyone in their sleep or, worse, hurting himself, and now his hand is already closing around the gun again, the cold metal somehow warmer, more familiar already, and he’s about to walk back upstairs and pull the trigger. 

They’ve done … heavy things before, of course. Not all of Komaeda’s scars are remnants of the past, and it’s no longer a secret that hurting Komaeda gets Hinata off almost as much as getting hurt by Hinata gets Komaeda off. Whether or not it’s healthy or safe isn’t a question either of them like to think about. It’s easier to just hold on and go with it.

And besides, Komaeda’s luck has never failed him before. This will end in a skipped heartbeat stalemate, relatively tame in comparison to the past, and they can move on to finding other ways to help, hurt, heal, harm, hold one another. The gun is heavy. Hinata wonders how many bullets it holds, how much empty space is left. He has a feeling he won’t like the ratio and that it will make him one step closer to no longer being able to ignore his dick. But those are bridges to be crossed in a moment. Now he just faces the stairs and the closed door at the top of them. 

Hinata pauses at the bottom of the stairs and listens. There’s no sound from upstairs, which isn’t a surprise. Komaeda is many things, but when he wants to behave, he’s simply the most obedient there is. And, Hinata reflects, he is too, in a way. Komaeda may be the one tied up, but Hinata’s the one that’s going to pull the trigger, regardless of the emotions that the thought twists together with the adrenaline in his gut. 

For the first time, Hinata allows himself to look down at the gun. He knows Komaeda is probably about to crawl out of his own skin with impatience, but Hinata doesn’t particularly mind making him wait.

It’s small, relatively, and the ceiling light glints off of it when Hinata tilts it to the side. The safety is on, but running his thumb over the trigger still feels dangerous. Hinata closes his eyes. For a moment, he remembers Komaeda dead, sees it happening again, and he exhales shakily. But he has to have faith in Komaeda’s luck, doesn’t he? That’s what this is about, just as much as it’s about Komaeda proving himself and about Hinata being the one that gets to be his judge, for better or for absolute worst.

Hinata opens his eyes. He doesn’t look down at the gun as he drops it back to his side and heads up the stairs. He considers trying to keep his footsteps quiet, to try and gain some element of surprise if only to see the look on Komaeda’s face, but abandons the idea once one of the floorboards creaks under his weight.

He pushes the door open with a surprisingly steady hand. It surprises him more than it should, in a quiet way that he hopes doesn’t show on his face, that Komaeda is exactly as he left him.

“Hi,” Hinata says.

Komaeda’s lips twist up into a smile, but he says nothing. 

“You can talk,” Hinata adds, “but don’t be a shit or you won’t be able to.”   
  
“Thank you, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda says. 

Hinata arranges his face into the exact kind of indifferent displeasure that he knows Komaeda loves. “Don’t mention it.” 

“So,” Komaeda says conversationally, his eyes tracking Hinata’s movements as he walks over to stand by the side of the bed, “did you manage to talk yourself out of it yet?”   
  
Hinata tries to keep his face steady, but he knows Komaeda sees the way his mouth twitches. “What do you mean?”

“Did you get all self-righteous and decide you’re not going to do it,” Komaeda says. He doesn’t inflect it like a question, and his eyes are bright like he’s laughing at a joke Hinata’s not in on yet.

It’s a fair point, Hinata does have a bit of a history of backing out, but the metal of the gun has grown warm in his hand and this isn’t one of those times. “No, I didn’t,” he says.

Komaeda arches an eyebrow. “I have to admit, I’m surprised,” he says, “and if you don’t mind me saying, a little unconvinced.”

Hinata scowls at him. He knows exactly what Komaeda’s doing, what he wants, but that doesn’t stop him from climbing up onto the bed, straddling Komaeda and pushing the barrel of the gun up against the bottom of his jaw. “Stop trying to provoke me,” he says, impressing himself with the steadiness of his voice.  “It’s working, though, isn’t it?” Komaeda says. His tone is more innocent than his admission or hard-on warrants.

“Alright, no more talking for you, actually,” Hinata snaps, stopping himself just short of a growl. “You are such a shit sometimes, you know that? I don’t - I love you, you know I do, but I don’t know why you insist on me showing it to you like this.”

Komaeda doesn’t respond, of course. His face is carefully calm, but Hinata knows him and his tells well enough to see the flush in his cheeks and the way his pupils are blown. 

“You’d like it if I killed you, wouldn’t you? Not because you want to die, but because it’d be me.”   


Komaeda is silent, which is answer enough in so many ways.

Hinata huffs out a sigh, his free hand reaching up to gently stroke Komaeda’s cheek. “I don’t want that,” he says, quietly now. “I don’t want you to want that.”

Komaeda gives him a small frown, leaning into Hinata’s touch as much as the collar and chain around his neck allow him to. Hinata just watches him for a long moment. He half-expects Komaeda to speak, but the room stays quiet until he continues, “But you do want it. And I … I don’t want that, but that doesn’t mean…”

“It doesn’t mean you don’t like it,” Komaeda finishes. His voice is soft, almost hesitant.

Hinata nudges his chin with the gun, pushing his head back into the headboard in a way that really can’t be comfortable, but Komaeda doesn’t protest. “What did I tell you about talking?” he says. 

“I know, and I’m sorry, you’ll just have to forgive me,” Komaeda says. He sounds genuinely apologetic, but Hinata isn’t sure if he can trust his own assessment there. “I just - you weren’t going to say it.”

“I guess not,” Hinata admits. He sits back a bit, sliding the gun out from under Komaeda’s chin and instead pressing it to Komaeda’s chest. “Is this loaded?”

“Every chamber but one.”

“How many chambers?”

“Eight.”

Hinata reaches out and touches Komaeda’s hip, right at the spot where his skin is exposed with his arms held above his head. Komaeda shivers. “That’s worse odds than before, right?”

Komaeda attempts to shrug casually. “Technically, but not for me.”

“Right.” 

There’s a pause. Hinata runs his thumb over the hammer but doesn’t cock it yet; Komaeda’s eyes track the movement. “Moving right ahead, huh?” he asks.

It takes a moment for Hinata to draw his eyes away from the way the gun moves slightly every time Komaeda inhales up to his boyfriend’s face. He lets himself smirk, just a bit. Komaeda is trying to sound collected, but Hinata can hear the hint of, for lack of a better word, desperation in between his words. “What, is there something you wanted beforehand?”

“I know it’s not my place to ask for things, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda starts, letting his weight drop into his restraints more as he speaks, “but I’m not going to act like I won’t feel cheated if my useless talent decides to abandon me before I get off.”

“That would be unfortunate, wouldn’t it,” Hinata says. There’s still a voice in the back of his mind wondering what the fuck it is he’s doing, how he’s letting Komaeda’s death become such a real possibility - at his hands, no less -, why he’s been hard through it all, but he resolutely ignores it. 

“I think so,” Komaeda says. There’s the sound of metal clinking as he flexes his hands, like he’s trying to reach Hinata. Hinata holds his breath, lets it out all at once.   
  
“Yeah, alright,” Hinata agrees. He gives Komaeda a moment to say something else, but he’s apparently decided that he’s said enough. He watches silently, that patient smile back on his face, as Hinata places the gun down on the bed next to himself in favor of tugging Komaeda’s sleep shorts and boxers down to his knees. 

He knew that Komaeda was hard, obviously, but there’s still an element of shock in seeing it with the gun still in the corner of his vision. Hinata can’t help himself - he just stares for a moment, his hands splayed out on Komaeda’s pale thighs, so close to Komaeda’s dick but carefully holding back, until the spell is broken by Komaeda’s abruptly-breathy voice.

“Are you just going to look at it?’

Hinata lifts his eyes to Komaeda’s. “I could,” he says. 

Komaeda laughs a little, but the usual smug sound is already well on its way to desperate. That’s something Hinata loves about him; his easy desperation, the way Hinata can make him beg with just a well-spoken phrase and well-placed hand, the way he sounds like an amateur porn star when he gets going but is completely genuine. “That’s true, I am at your mercy.”

Hinata follows Komaeda’s pointed gaze towards the gun, then back to his dick. He lifts his hands from Komaeda’s thighs and laughs at Komaeda’s disappointed whine when he pulls them away completely, then at Komaeda’s interested hum when he reaches for his own pants. He means to just push them down to his knees like he did to Komaeda’s, but he only gets about halfway down his thighs with the way he’s straddling Komaeda. 

Komaeda whines again, so quietly Hinata wonders if he even knows that he’s doing it, as Hinata crawls backwards off of him and tugs his pants all the way down to his ankles, then pauses. He hates to admit it, but any time he spends on prepping Komaeda to be fucked will likely be disproportionate to the amount of time they spend doing the act. 

He’s quiet for so long, pondering his options, that Komaeda finally speaks. “Hinata-kun?”

Hinata looks up at him. He’s beautiful, he really is. He looks painfully vulnerable with his hands over his head, his collar a stark contrast against his pale skin and hair, his shirt hanging loosely from his shoulders and his legs spread as wide as the shorts around his knees will let him, his dick hard and obscene between his legs, and Hinata loves him in a way he’ll never be able to explain, a way that feels like sharp edges and risks that don’t allow for second chances. 

“Hinata-kun?” Komaeda repeats.

“You’re beautiful,” Hinata tells him. “Will you lift your legs up for me?” Komaeda obliges instantly, his body becoming an almost comical right ankle, and Hinata runs a hand all the way from his thigh to his ankle, holding it for just a second. “Wait there, okay, I’m gonna get lube.”

Komaeda has apparently decided to be silent again, so he just watches Hinata with wide eyes as he leans over and fumbles in the bedside drawer until he retrieves the small bottle. His legs waver slightly with only his own strength to hold them up, but Hinata looks him in the eye and they steady.

“Good,” Hinata says quietly. He flicks the cap of the lube open and pours some into his hand before reaching down and wrapping said hand around his dick. He groans softly at the contact; he’d barely even realized exactly how worked up all of this was making him. 

Komaeda makes another small whine. 

“What is it?” Hinata asks. “You can speak.”

“I need - Hajime, fuck, I need you to touch me, please, shoot me, whatever you want, I just want whatever you want to give me,” Komaeda gasps, the words spilling out like he’d been holding them in. His soft smile is gone, his teeth now gritted and his hips arching up uselessly.    
  
Hinata runs his hand up and down his own dick a couple of times before he answers, each time reveling in the way Komaeda’s eyes track the motion. “What if I told you all I wanted to give you was nothing?”

Komaeda’s throat audibly works. “That’d be pretty unlucky, I think,” he says, his voice almost a laugh before Hinata’s hand lands on the back of his thigh and it becomes a moan. 

Hinata doesn’t speak as he guides Komaeda to hook his ankles over his shoulders, his legs spread just enough for Hinata to kneel in between them, his dick positioned just in front of Komaeda’s thighs. “Push your thighs together,” Hinata orders quietly. 

Komaeda looks up at him with a kind of desperation, a need that’s so obvious it hurts, in a way, but obeys. Hinata wraps one hand around Komaeda’s ankle and places the other on the bed next to Komaeda’s side for stability, then drops his head and pushes his hips forward.

His dick slides between Komaeda’s thighs perfectly; it’s not as good as actually being inside of Komaeda is, but it’s soft and warm and tight and that’s all that HInata needs right now. 

“Ah,  _ ah _ ,” Komaeda gasps. His thighs clench, and the cuffs rattle against the headboard. Hinata looks down at his face, cheeks red, eyes closed, mouth open, and imagines him dead. His hips jerk forward again.    
  
“Shit,” he gasps, as he falls into an easy rhythm, rocking back and forth and pushing Komaeda with him. “Shit, Komaeda, you’re so good.”

Komaeda makes a noise that sounds like it would’ve been a protest had Hinata’s cock not brushed up against his own and turned it into a shout. “Ah,” he gasps again, shameless in the way he tosses his head as far back as his collar will let him and tries to tug Hinata as close as he can with the leverage he gets from his ankles. “Hajime, please,  _ please, _ the - let me, I need, ah, the gun.”

“Okay, alright,” Hinata says, “just, I need to-” He’s getting close, the situation and the sensation all knotting together in his chest and pulling him right up to the edge. Komaeda’s thighs are squeezing his dick perfectly, slick with lube and warm and alive -  _ for now _ -, and Komaeda practically yelps when their dicks brush again. The sound pushes Hinata over the edge, and he comes onto Komaeda’s stomach with a whine that would be embarrassing if it wasn’t for the sounds Komaeda makes at the same time. 

“Hajime,” Komaeda insists, breath ragged, back arched, perfect and beautiful. Hinata thinks his heart might give out if he looks at him any longer, so he tears his eyes away and reaches for the gun.

It fits in his hand like it’s been there many times before, and the barrel meets the center of Komaeda’s forehead like a kiss. “One in eight chance?” Hinata asks.

Komaeda’s entire chest heaves in time with his breathing. His ankles are still locked over Hinata’s shoulders, holding him close, and he looks like he’s about to cry and come at the same time. “One in eight,” he confirms.

“I love you,” Hinata says. His thumb cocks the hammer like it’s a practiced motion, his index finger already on the trigger. He could be about to kill Komaeda. Komaeda would let him. The gun, Hinata suddenly notices, smells kind of like laundry detergent, like Komaeda’s clothes on the monthly occasion of their washing. He could be about to kill Komaeda. Komaeda would let him. He pulls the trigger. 

It’s not like in the movies, there’s no slo-mo or time warp, no abrupt silence and no explosion of sound. Hinata’s heartbeats keep perfect, frantic time as the gun  _ clicks _ quietly, empty.

The sound Komaeda makes isn’t one Hinata thinks he’s ever heard before. It’s horrible and beautiful and absurdly hot, and it accompanies the dull  _ thunk  _ of the headboard as he tosses his head back and comes, completely untouched in more ways than one. 

Komaeda’s luck is proven, his worth along with it, and as Hinata drops the gun to the floor and pulls Komaeda into a kiss, he can’t help but wonder how many times it’ll take before it fails them. 

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Komaeda and Hinata have a weird, D/s type relationship that's never strictly defined, but it's not exactly healthy. In this fic, Komaeda convinces Hinata to play Russian roulette with him in order to reinforce his luck/the worth he derives from it; Hinata does "shoot" him but the chamber is empty. 
> 
> thanks for reading!! feedback makes the world go round, or something like that :)


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